Tattling in the Temple
Solarium: Jedi Temple -- New Alderaan: Ord Mantell This is the only room in the temple that isn't wired for illumination. Curving lazily around the back end of the temple, it seems that the entire front end of the room is nothing more than a giant sheet of transparisteel, geared toward letting in as much natural light as possible. Glimmering off to the northeast is the Antilles Sea, sunlight making the waters glisten brightly as tidal action kicks up a few waves and ripples across its surface. A few clouds can be seen scudding off near the horizon, but the warmth of the Bright Jewel can clearly be felt, drenching the room in shades of blue. The room is filled with comfortable seating for members of many races, many of which are clustered into conversation circles. Each chair or couch is set on repulsor pads that skid across the floor easily. The furniture is done in lovely shades of cool tones, such as blues and greens, with gray and silver accents. The soft sound of trickling water is always heard from the back of the room, where two fountains spill from the ceiling on either side of the corridor. Spilling from the fountains of the second level, the water flows down each wall and into pools that gather near the solarium window's edges. The weather outside is clear. Only a few puffy, pinkish clouds spot The trickling fountains are the loudest voice to stir in the solarium this evening, as they are most nights. It is a naturally quiet place for contemplation, Ambrosia supposes, standing near one of the collection pools with her back to the water, face angled towards the warm spread of sunset on the other side of that panoramic window. The star is rapidly drowning in the Antilles sea, but its descent is a peaceful one, not the thrashing, fighting flail she imagines she'd put up. She's not alone, of course. A few other students occupy some of the cozy seating arrangements, murmuring among themselves. The diplomat doesn't seem to hear them, at any rate. Thoughts lost amid the tumbling whitecaps beyond. Thoughts of Kashyyyk, thoughts of Johanna, thoughts of the many-layered Zeak, of the impressively idiotic yet insightful Ewan Dain, and, like most nights when the darkness lies just over the horizon...of Vidious. That is the reason she's here this evening, after all. There's some small degree of comfort in knowing that her urgent message to the office of Jedi affairs in the gov't complex wasn't ignored. Even after all these years, Luke still finds himself mildly piqued when abruptly summoned from a state of deep introspection to deal with the mundane particulars of his daily routine. There's something physically jarring about switching gears so quickly and the Jedi is mindful of approaching Ambrosia slowly, extra care given to making the impending transition as painless for her as possible. Let her enjoy the view a moment longer... there will be time enough for whatever unpleasant conversation is sure to follow. He stops roughly five meters behind her, at a diagonal to her left, and waits for the subtle energetic shift that signals the woman's awareness moving towards something more concrete, her attention perhaps caught by a particular sound in the solarium. "Ambassador," he begins, keeping the small and respectful buffer zone between himself and the diplomat, "I'm glad to see you." "You...won't be..." The words are but a whisper, maybe not even spoken to the Jedi Master, but the faint tremor of Ambrosia head gradually forms into a more concrete nod and she pivots one fluid segment at a time to face her most gracious host with a ghost of an apologetic smile. A deep breath and her fingers interlace together at the low of her back. A thumb strokes over the silken newness of the opposing wrist. "I'm sorry, I of course am grateful for the audience. I'm quite certain you're a busy person with things I presumably have /very little/ understanding of, and have no desire to intrude. It's just, I feel I've become the bearer of harrowing news and little more." "Audience?" the Jedi echoes at length, a look of concern creasing his forehead at Ambrosia's choice of words, "Ambassador, please. You're among friends here. Will you do me the honor of sitting with me?" He gestures to a pair of empty seats: one a comfortable blue couch upon which Ambrosia can perch however she finds best, the other a simple grey chair for himself. "As for the nature of your news... it's not your responsibility to pretty up the truth. Why don't you tell me whatever it is you've come here to say and let me help you figure out how best to handle it?" Not her responsibility? Prettying up the truth is most certainly part of her job description! Course, it's the part she has always despised the most. Ducking her head for a moment to recompose, the Ambassador manages to look a bit bashful in spite of herself. "It uh...it isn't something I can handle, Master Skywalker. Or should, for that matter. I mean, this particular subject of address. The drama unfolding on Kashyyyk is another matter, and the Intelligence ministry, the humanitarian committees, we're all working on it." Looking up, she glances aside to the few other bodies about that do their best to not notice the impromptu visit. "But this one's for you, confided unto me by a rather controversial source." Squaring her shoulders, she adopts a more official stance and launches into a long-legged stride towards the couch. "I received a visit from Mr. Oppenhiemer of Etti Group...surely you've heard of him." A wry glance aside to the Jedi as she hovers over the couch, contemplating which cushion. "He dropped in shortly after I was discharged and - well - it's regarding Johanna Te Da'nan." The last name is uttered most quietly, eyes locked with his. Blue eyes narrow briefly at the mention of Zeak, but Luke instantly reclaims his equanimity and offers Ambrosia an encouraging smile as he settles onto the chair. "Mister Oppenhiemer is an interesting character," the Jedi muses, placing his elbows on the armrests and lightly steepling his fingers, "A shrewd opportunist of the highest order, extremely adept at surviving shifting alliances. Nothing he says or does is by accident." His attention drifts from Ambrosia's short-cropped locks to the remnant of the sunset behind her, a distant quality softening his gaze for moment as he attunes his senses more fully to the truths wishing to emerge from beneath countless layers of obfuscation. The enemy is always clever. "What did he tell you?" Ambrosia's settled for the left cushion, in the end. It's funny, the times indecisiveness can strike one whose daily routine involves making many, many decisions. Important ones are easy. Trivial ones...confusing. Or maybe that's just the residual brain damage manifesting. Whatever the cause for her delay, she's finally parked her ass and seems more or less content with the choice. "Lord Vidious has been trying for some time, I imagine, to seduce Johanna to his...his cause. His twisted perspective. That's /my/ assumption, given his blatant using of her during the..." her hands unclench from her lap, miming an explosion. A headshake. "Oppenhiemer told me that Johanna came to him - Oppenhiemer - trying to persuade him to, well, assist her. If it came to it. Kill her. If she failed to come back as a whole person, because she intends to stand by Vidious' side as his apprentice. Usurp power from Vadim." A pause, then "I imagine her line of thought led her to suppose she might then overtake Vidious...slay the bastard." Doesn't sound like the ambassador's entirely opposed to the idea... "But. I don't foresee that being successful. Not to mention, she and Oppenhiemer have a multitude of children that could potentially be at risk. At least one of them attends your temple, I know. Ara. Oppenhiemer is worried that she may actually go through with this foolish idea and...well, he thought you should be aware. Most logically. I'd considered returning to Tatooine to slap some sense into her myself, but I'm afraid she'd not pay me any mind. Past encounters considered." Luke says, "Here comes that migraine >.<" Ambrosia slips Luke some of her pills. Luke takes. Thus emerges the first truth: the Force never lies. For weeks now, an unease has cast its shadow over Luke's waking hours, its source nebulous and difficult to ascertain. That Ambrosia believes this news of Johanna's plan is plain; her unhappiness in her role as messenger underscores this. Even so, the Jedi remains calm, a thoughtful 'hmm' eventually punctuating the silence that has settled over the pair. "Oppenhiemer views with suspicion any being who can touch the Force," he says quietly, tapping his fingertips together as he speaks, "In truth, I was surprised that he agreed to have both of his children trained in our ways, though ultimately I'm grateful for their sake that he did. Above all it is /discipline/ that keeps a Jedi on the path of the light, and the earlier this discipline is cultivated, the better." Eventually he sighs, meeting Ambrosia's gaze. "I don't want to believe that Johanna would risk such a flirtation with the dark side again, not after what she survived with Vadim... but there's much of this ill-begotten plan that rings true to her character. For all of her considerable loyalty and bravery, she can be incredibly reckless. Did Oppenhiemer share any specific details with you?" Discipline, yeah. And yet...gravboots. Which have safely been confiscated much to Gabi's chagrin and stowed in her momma's weapons locker. Key in pocket. She thinks. Ambrosia's temporarily wandering mind (is it any wonder where the kid gets it from) guides her hand into said pocket, just to be sure. Yup. "No. No, I...I don't think so." The faint lines 'round Ambrosia's eyes grow deeper as she tenses her brow in concentration. She'd been drinking an 'herbal' tea when Zeak stopped in, dosing herself up for a solid few hours' sleep. The conversation /felt/ clear, but...was it? Yes? 'Do you know where she is now?' a concerned but understandably skeptic Ambrosia squints at Zeak from across the floor, pacing halted. 'No'. "He just told me what she'd confessed she planned to do. I don't know when, I don't know how or where or...well. Before the," She can feel her skin crawling, trying to turn itself inside out. Again. Pieces of Merk splattered and fused to it, burning in, blistering, oozing... "I saw her, in the Pirate's den. Tatooine. We had to stop, just a minute for my driver. Shiari Vane was there. They had business. I left before I could risk witnessing anything else," she says, breathless. "Should've stayed." The Jedi feigns an expression of comic shock. "Yes, how /could/ you have left? I expected you to divine the future, but here we are instead." Though the words may be mildly sarcastic, their delivery is playful and meant to distract Ambrosia from the storm gathering at the forefront of her thoughts. It isn't difficult to "overhear" her discomfort, the recent trauma making unwanted intrusions into her awareness. "Ambassador, please. You've been very helpful and I appreciate you coming here to deliver the news in person. I know it wasn't easy for you. Is there anything I can do for you or Gabi?" As well meaning as Luke's playful approach may be, Ambrosia Delgard is not ten years old, or prone to such distractions. Usually. She is thirty-eight. Seventeen years a servant to the Empire. Three years a wanderer. Sixteen years steadfast employee of the Republic's diplomatic Ministry, eight years a widow, veins clogged with bitter hormones, cynicism, alcohol, and who knows what else that armors the figurative heart against all manners and wiles that seek to pierce it. And yet, there's a smile, a token of her appreciation almost hidden behind the solemnity of her stare. The potential replies are innumerable, very few appropriate, she suspects. A brief flash of Vane's offered 'hospitality' - all muscles and manwhoredom - come to mind atop the sordid heap of contemplated ways to soothe the soul. It's what Johanna would have selected for her, for certain. Ambrosia blinks her head clear of the nonsense and straightens her posture. “Gabi’s a resilient child. She’s endured much more this past year than most adults prove capable of handling. But she’s /just/ a child. Puts on a brave face by day but wakes screaming from bad dreams. Nightly. My effort just isn’t enough, anymore. Try as I may, there’s only one of me. Sometimes not even that.” Shaking her head vehemently, she sucks in her lower lip, “What I want is to not have to lie to my twelve year old as I try singing her back to sleep, that everything is going to be OK, when history has made it undeniably clear that’s not true. No matter how safe our environment appears, there will always be a lingering doubt, a fear, a palpable anxiety from me that she…it just makes her worse. I /know/ it does.” (Aaaaaand scene pause. I’ll add the rest when it happens!) Luke dies. Manwhoredom Ambrosia says, "You should have seen them! Glorious!" Ambrosia says, "Damn my better sense of "GTFO"" Ambrosia should add "bitter hormones" to the list of vein-clogging nonsense Luke offers Midol? Then runs for his life. Ambrosia chucks it after his retreating figure. "Those little legs won't carry you fast enough, Skywalker!!!!" Luke is pegged upside the head by one of those mean corners Ambrosia shakes out her shoulder. "Still got it..." Luke says, "Wait, is Ambro preggers? Is that why she's bitter? *steps away further* Is... is that what this lawsuit is really about? Oh God. It's all so clear now. I'm being set up." Ambrosia says, "HEEEEEELL NAW"